When a Laird Takes a Lady: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel

by Rowan Keats

  Niall stayed his hand. “Nay. Bring the creature to Ana. She can prove her healing skills to you without risking the clan.”

  “‘Tis barely alive. It might not survive the journey back to camp.”

  His brother shrugged. “If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. But it’s surely worth a try. Deerhounds are spectacular beasts, capable of downing a buck. A shame to let it die if it can be saved.”

  “Agreed.“

  Aiden scooped the dog into his arms with a mild grunt. Heavy as a bloody woman. The dog whimpered at the movement, then lay still. Deep-chested, with a long tapered snout, it was a surprisingly beautiful creature.

  “Lead on, then,” he urged his brother. “Let’s see what your wee healer can do.”

  * * *

  Isabail next tended the bites and scratches on Daniel’s arms and hip. Twelve of them, two quite deep—one on his biceps and another on his hip. Most of his injuries had ceased to bleed, but it was clear the deeper ones would need more than a strip of linen. Her healing skills were rudimentary at best. Under any other circumstances, she would have happily stepped aside in favor of the healer.

  Her lips tightened. But she’d trusted Ana Bisset once before, and the outcome had been dire. Daniel deserved better.

  “Will I lose the arm?” Daniel asked, peering at the wound with a tragic expression.

  “Not if I can help it,” Isabail said.

  “Yarrow would stanch the bleeding and cleanse the wounds.”

  Isabail nodded. “Muirne, fetch me some dried yarrow from the stores in the caves.”

  As the maid scurried off, Daniel eyed Isabail. “There are caves nearby?”

  “Beneath the ruin.” She pressed a dry cloth against his biceps in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “Quite fortuitous that you insisted on bringing Gorm to Edinburgh with us.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “I’m pleased that he led me to you, of course, but I mourn his loss most severely. John was so fond of him. But if his sacrifice allows me to bring MacCurran to justice, then it was worth it.”

  Isabail lifted her head. “You have some plan in mind?”

  A bitter edge twisted Daniel’s lips. “My priority is to see to your safety, of course, Isabail. But now that I am here in his camp and I have witnessed his association with the witch firsthand, I must act on my opportunity. I can prove the wretch is guilty of killing John, whether he did the deed himself, or not.”

  “How?”

  “By locating the necklace.”

  Isabail lifted the cloth to peer at the wound. The flow had eased, but the wound still seeped. She pressed it back. “Queen Yolande’s necklace?”

  “Aye. I must search MacCurran’s camp for it.”

  Her eyebrows soared. “The king already believes MacCurran guilty of the theft. Why would you risk your life for no cause?”

  “The queen’s birthday will be celebrated in a few short weeks, on the nineteenth of March. Would it not be fitting for the king to gift it to his true love then, as he was unable to do upon their wedding day?”

  “I suppose,” Isabail said, a little dubious.

  “Come now. Surely you believe in the grand gesture?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not as convinced as you that the king is in love with Yolande.”

  He smiled. “Why wouldn’t he be? In addition to being quite beautiful, Queen Yolande has given him the one thing he desires most, has she not?”

  “We don’t know that. It’s only speculation that the queen is with child.”

  “Nonetheless,” said Daniel. “Theirs is a story that deserves a happy twist.”

  He sighed heavily. “In truth, I have a more personal reason for my desire to see the necklace reclaimed. To me, it represents justice for John. He died at the hands of a ruthless thief who is yet unpunished for the crime.” He placed a hand on Isabail’s sleeve. “It tears my heart apart to know his murderer yet goes free. I have a contact in the king’s court. If I bring the necklace to him, he may be able to convince the king to expend more effort to catch the wretched cur.”

  Muirne ducked under the lintel carrying a small earthenware pot. “I found the yarrow,” she crowed with delight.

  Isabail took the pot, filled the cup of her hand with dried yarrow, and added water to create a paste. Then she removed the cloth from Daniel’s wound and packed the paste into the rendered flesh. Once she was satisfied with the packing, she wrapped the wound with fresh strips of linen and tied a firm knot.

  “Allow the yarrow to do its work,” she cautioned Daniel. “Rest. Do not use that arm excessively.”

  “Thank you, Lady Isabail.”

  She tossed him a smile, then gathered up the remaining bandages. It was odd to hear him address her so formally. John and Daniel had been very close for several years, and before John’s death, the three of them had spent significant time together. Casual, friendly, and honest time. Many of Isabail’s favorite memories of John included Daniel.

  “You know, of course, that MacCurran will place a guard at my door,” Daniel said.

  Isabail frowned. She hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense. A stranger in his camp would be cause for worry. “‘Tis a logical assumption,” she agreed.

  “To have a hope of recovering the queen’s necklace, I will need your help.”

  “MacCurran swears he never stole the necklace.”

  “That’s preposterous. John’s men found it hidden in his chamber the night de Coleville was murdered. And the necklace disappeared from Lochurkie a fortnight later, when MacCurran was freed from the dungeons by his brother.”

  Isabail nodded. Daniel was right. She’d been a fool to even consider MacCurran’s wild story of a man in black. Who else had reason to take the necklace?

  “It’s here, hidden among MacCurran’s possessions,” Daniel said. “I’m willing to stake my life upon it.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Explore the camp as best you can. Locate whatever potential caches you can. Then you and I can discuss how we might search those caches.” He lightly squeezed her hand. “Whatever you do, do not put yourself at risk, not under any circumstance. Do not attempt to recover the necklace without me. I would never be able to live with myself if you came to harm.”

  Isabail clasped her hand over his. “If I discover anything worthy, I’ll bring it to your attention. I promise.”

  “Lady Isabail.”

  At the crisp address from MacCurran, Isabail jerked. Releasing Daniel’s hand, she hastily sought her feet and faced the fierce warrior. Was it her imagination, or did he seem especially forbidding at this moment? “Aye?”

  His cold gaze examined her from head to boots in slow, impolite detail. What he was looking for, Isabail could only guess, but the intensity of his stare brought a hot flush to her cheeks.

  “We located the hound,” he said finally.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Poor, brave Gorm. “May I look upon him one last time before you commit his body to the fire?”

  “It lives.”

  Isabail’s hands flew to her chest. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “You may see it once its wounds are properly dressed.”

  Relief and amazement drove her forward before she had time to think. MacCurran had rescued Gorm, just as he had once rescued Isabail and Muirne. Right from the jaws of death. She skipped across the room, rose to the tips of her toes, and planted a grateful kiss upon his rocklike chin. “Thank you.”

  A steely arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her tight against his chest. “You may thank me properly later.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Isabail to deal with the wide-eyed reactions of Muirne and Daniel . . . and the madcap flutter of her heart.

  * * *

  Aiden stood over Ana’s shoulder and carefully watched her clean and dress the dog’s wounds. She seemed capable enoug
h, but his knowledge of herbs was very limited. Only Master Tam could confirm the healing properties of the unguents she was using. Thankfully, the orchard keeper was nodding and smiling.

  “Will the creature survive the day?” Aiden demanded of Ana.

  She looked up from her efforts. “Not without a miracle. These wounds are severe, and the poor fellow is weak from blood loss.”

  Aiden relived the blazing shine of gratitude in Isabail’s eyes. “Then perform a miracle.”

  The healer grimaced. “You ask the impossible.”

  “Niall has great faith in your abilities. He believed you could save the animal. Are you admitting that you cannot?”

  Ana stood straight. “If you leave me alone with the animal—if you give me your complete and unwavering trust—I will do all in my power to save it. But in the end, it will be God who decides whether the dog lives or dies. Not I.”

  Aiden’s gaze dropped to the animal on the table. Its breathing was shallow and labored. In his opinion, death was a certainty. But if it died, Isabail would be heartbroken. She clearly cared for the beast. He caught Tam’s eye and gave him the nod that excused him from the room. As the fur panel flapped shut behind him, Aiden delivered a fierce message to the healer.

  “This dog will live, or you will face my wrath. Understand?”

  Ana swept an errant lock of dark red hair from her face. She did not seem particularly fearful of his anger. No downward glances, no trembling hands—just a clean and absolute confidence in her actions. “Come back in an hour. God will have given His answer by then.”

  “For your sake, I hope it is the right one.”

  Giving her one last glare, he left her to the task.

  * * *

  Eager to see Gorm, Isabail went in search of MacCurran the moment Daniel’s wounds were tended to. Since John’s death, the hound had become a favored companion. Like her, Gorm lived for those moments when they escaped the castle walls and took to the hills on a hunt. She had added to the kitchen stew pot by way of her glossy winged merlin, while Gorm had run down rabbits with his long-legged pursuit.

  She found the MacCurran chief in the lists—that section of the outer close dedicated to the warriors and their craft. He had entered into a mock duel with his brother, Niall, both men wielding wooden swords but forsaking the heavy padded cotun worn as protection by the others.

  Reluctant to interfere, she stood back from the fray and watched for a time.

  The two men were evenly matched. Where the chief had the advantage of size and reach, his brother gained points with speed and agility. Both had clearly spent many an hour in the lists.

  With the sleeves of their lèines rolled up past their elbows and the necks unlaced, Isabail was privy to an entrancing display of rippling muscles. Neither man carried any spare flesh. As the duel continued—each whack and glide of the wooden swords as swift and strong as the last—the sheen of sweat enhanced the view.

  MacCurran was surely the finest example of the male form she had ever seen. He was both long of limb and solid of shape. His movements were spare and deliberate, each one supported by heavy sinews that bunched and flexed under his smooth, tawny skin. Truly, he was the epitome of power and grace.

  He was also devious.

  Apparently tiring of the sport, he feinted to the left, waited until Niall was committed to that direction, then hooked a foot behind his opponent’s calf and tripped him. Niall attempted to recover, but MacCurran gave his chest a quick shove and the other warrior went down.

  Niall hit the ground cursing his brother with a string of ribald words that brought a flush to Isabail’s cheeks.

  MacCurran cut him off. “Mind your tongue, bratling. There’s a lady present.”

  Until that point, Isabail was unaware that she’d been noticed. She advanced on the group, approaching the chief. His hair clung damply to his forehead and neck, and tiny droplets hung from his jaw.

  “A word, if I may?” she asked the MacCurran. Her aim was polite nonchalance, but the words came out a tad breathless. Eyeing him from a distance never had the same effect as standing next to him. Even when Daniel’s warnings were fresh in her ear.

  He took her elbow and led her a short distance away. “I may have misspoken earlier,” he said.

  “How so?”

  His blue eyes met hers. “The dog yet lives, but its injuries are very grave.”

  “I would see him, if I may.” Gorm had given her so much comfort after John’s death; she owed him whatever solace she could provide.

  “Nay.”

  “But,” she protested, “he is mine.”

  “If he survives the night, you can see him in the morn.”

  “Why would you keep me from him?”

  He pointed to the ruin. “You already have a patient. Since you insisted on tending him, go tend him. I will inform you of the hound’s progress.”

  “Daniel is fine. I wish to see Gorm.”

  “Go.” His already fierce face took on a darker cast. “Do not test my temper over this.”

  The fear that had consumed her when she first met MacCurran resurfaced in a flash. Her heartbeat fluttered like a startled bird in her chest, and she had a very intense urge to run. But she did not. MacCurran had sworn that he would never strike her, or any woman, even in anger. And despite her renewed conviction that he was involved with her brother’s death, she still believed that to be true. She had no idea why she believed it, but she did.

  “I do not wish him to die without a familiar face to comfort him,” she said quietly.

  The grim look on his face eased a mite. “I understand, but I cannot allow you to see him now. To ease your fears, I will check on him. Now go.”

  Isabail hesitated.

  “Go,” he repeated.

  Reluctantly, she went. She returned to the inner close, but did not give up her hope of seeing Gorm. There was no reason for MacCurran to refuse her request to comfort the dog in his last hour. He was simply being cruel. Punishing her for her bitter words of condemnation.

  But he underestimated her determination.

  MacCurran had promised to check on Gorm. That meant he would visit the dog, hopefully in short order. Isabail grabbed one multihued blanket from her bed and wrapped it about her waist, hiding the pale blue skirts of her gown. Then she took a second blanket and wrapped it about her head and shoulders. Anyone close to her would know immediately that it was she, but it was not intended to be a perfect disguise. Just enough of a veil to encourage the MacCurran’s glance to slide past her.

  Now toasty warm, she joined the other women in front of the central fire pit.

  And waited for the MacCurran to enter the close.

  * * *

  As Aiden entered Ana’s hut, she looked up. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. “The hound died,” he determined grimly.

  “Nay,” she protested, pointing to the piled blankets in the corner. “But neither does he show signs of recovery. I’ve tended the wounds and healed his hurts, but he lies still and unmoving.”

  Aiden crossed the room and stared down upon the animal. Blood still crusted the dog’s blue-gray coat in several spots, but he could no longer see any open gashes. Linen bandages covered sections of its belly and legs. “Its breaths are deeper.”

  “Aye.”

  “Surely it just needs to eat.”

  Ana shook her head. “I’ve attempted to feed him, but he will not take food.”

  “Water?”

  “Nothing.” She handed Aiden a small wooden bowl and a spoon. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

  Aiden stared at the bowl of broth. He had far more pressing things to see to, like training the men, checking on the patrols, and solving disputes between members of his clan. But he did not want to return to Isabail with the news that her hound had passed. Nor could he send
her here to Ana, the woman who had been tried and convicted of poisoning her brother. She would be furious to discover he’d sought the healer’s help at all.

  He crouched beside the dog.

  Its head lay at the far side, close to the wall, making spooning anything into its maw near impossible. Aiden placed the bowl on the floor and scooped up the dog, once again amazed by its size. “How did you get the beast from your table to the floor?”

  “Niall,” she said, smiling.

  Aiden repositioned the dog, then sat on the ground next to its large head. He reached for the bowl, then halted. The dog had lifted its head and laid it on Aiden’s thigh. All without opening an eye.

  “Och,” said Ana softly. “That’s a good sign.”

  Aiden put his hand on the dog’s snout, surprised to find the wiry fur was soft and smooth. “There’s a lad,” he said encouragingly. “You’ll eat now, or I’ll take you to task.”

  He spooned a little broth into the animal’s mouth.

  It swallowed, then licked its lips in a silent request for more.

  Ana looked on, amazed. “I tried the very same thing only a few moments ago, to no avail.”

  “He’s a wise dog. Knows better than to refuse his chief.”

  She snorted. “Were you, perchance, the one who carried him here from the forest?”

  “Aye.”

  Ana nodded. “He remembers your scent. He knows it was you who saved him.”

  For some reason that pleased Aiden. He spent the next while happily plying the beast with soup and talking to his brother’s chosen woman. When he had emptied the bowl and set it aside, he was rewarded by a damp lick on his hands and a contented rumble in the dog’s throat.

  As he carefully shifted the dog and rose to his feet, he asked, “When will he be hunting rabbits again?”

  The healer laughed. “One step at a time. Let’s get him on his feet first.”

  “But he will recover?” he asked seriously.

  She nodded. “Although, it would be best if you returned a few more times to encourage him to eat.”

  He frowned.

  “Do you wish him to heal swiftly?” Ana prompted.

  “Of course.”